“Okay, we’re almost there,” I say as I reach out of my window and enter my gate code, looking over my shoulder to make sure Roman doesn’t see my code is “1234.” Even though he’s injured and on a pleasant dose of pain meds, I know he always has enough energy to throw in a lecture about security and all that nonsense.

I drive up the long, winding driveway and slow when I start to see the lines of cars parked on the grass outside my house. Over a dozen cars are scattered on the lot, and as I inch my car closer through the narrow driveway, I can start to see a crowd of people spilling out my front door.

“What the hell?” I mutter as I pull my car to the side of my drive.

“You having a party?” Roman asks me as he looks out the window.

“Most definitely not,” I say as I slam my car into park.

“We should call the police.”

As I look around, I instantly recognize the yellow Lamborghini with bright red stripes parked prominently in front of the front door and I shake my head. “No need,” I say. “This is all Drizzle.”

A rush of annoyance fuels me as I jump out of the car, slam the door, and march my way toward the house. I feel adrenaline pumping through my body as I try to just imagine the bullshit excuse Drizzle has created to break in to my house and throw a party.

“Daphni, wait!” Roman calls out.

I stop and turn to find him trailing behind me. “Roman, you should stay in the car and rest. I can handle this on my own.”

Roman vehemently shakes his head. “No way am I letting you out my sight again.” He winces as he grips his side. “Maybe you could just not run?”

I cringe and nod. “Sorry.”

Together we walk toward the house, where loud music pours onto the front lawn. A small crowd is sitting outside, passing around a joint, oblivious to the fact that they are blatantly trespassing on my property.

I fling open the door to my house to find another thirty people loitering about and lounging on my furniture—my very expensive, imported-from-Turkey furniture, mind you. I storm through the rooms, mindful not to rush too much, for Roman’s sake. As I look through each room, I feel my skin itch with anticipation. Where the hell is my idiot boyfriend?

Not finding him anywhere downstairs, I climb the stairs to the second floor. All the doors are propped open except for one: my bedroom.

As I step closer, I feel my stomach sink. Once outside my door, I pause when I feel Roman’s hand grab my arm.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks, his face full of concern. “We could just go now. Call the cops, go somewhere else.”

I shake my head and lift my hand to the door handle, then thrust open the door. I feel my stomach drop as I take in the scene before me. Bottles are scattered all over the floor, along with piles of clothes. My beautiful, custom, imported red silk sheets have been thrown to the ground and lay in a rumpled mess. And on my bed is Drizzle, flanked by two bleached blondes: one riding him, gyrating on top of him and moaning like a beached manatee, while the other blonde sits on his face.

“Are you fucking serious?” I scream as I slam the bedroom door behind me.

The two girls squeal as they see me and, to their credit, quickly jump away from the bed and scuttle into the corner, using the curtains to shield their naked bodies. Drizzle looks up, a look of shock mixed with disappointment on his face.

“Daphni, what the fuck are you doing here?” he asks, his words slurring together. One look at his pasty skin and bloodshot eyes tells me everything I need to know.

“What am I doing here? This is my house, asshole. The question is what the hell are you doing here?”

He pushes himself off the bed and saunters toward me. He doesn’t make any effort to cover himself, his still-hard erection flopping shamelessly as he stalks toward me.

“Why don’t you join us, Daphni?” he asks with a lazy smile on his face.

At my side, Roman tenses and steps toward me as Drizzle approaches. I lift my hand to keep him back, a move that doesn’t go unnoticed by Drizzle. He smiles at Roman, his bleary eyes assessing him. We probably don’t look like the most formidable match: me, still in the clothes I fell asleep in, and Roman in flannel pants and a plain white T-shirt from the hospital’s gift shop.

“You’re disgusting,” I spit out.

How had I let myself settle for someone so terrible and repulsive? How much did I hate myself to believe that this was someone I deserved? Turning to the two girls, I point at the piles of clothes on the ground. “Ladies, I would suggest you get dressed and tell your friends downstairs that they have ten minutes to leave before I call the cops.”

The two poor girls nod quickly, grab their clothes, and rush out of the room. Staring down at Drizzle, I shake my head in disgust. “In case you can’t figure it out, we’re done.”

Drizzle laughs as he picks up his clothes from the ground. “Whatever. You’re a frigid bitch, Daphni. It’s no wonder I have to find other amusements. Fucking you is like fucking a corpse. You just lay there like a doll, shaking like you’re having a fucking seizure. It’s weird as fuck, Daphni.”

I feel my body heat with rage and before I can stop myself, I take two steps toward him and let my fist fly straight into his nose. He yelps as my fist connects with his face. I feel a sense of satisfaction as I see the blood shoot out of his nose, and I make a mental note to buy Liam, who spent hours teaching me how to box, a really fucking good gift for Christmas this year.

“You cunt!” he shouts, as he flails his arms to try and hit me.

I kick him in the balls and he doubles over in pain, still clutching his nose. I sink my right elbow into the back of his neck, sending him to the floor. I throw another kick into his gut for good measure, sending him to the ground. I know the last kick was a bit of overkill, but seeing him on the floor, clutching his balls, is a beautiful mental picture that I want to file away for myself. I hate how I let myself settle for someone like him and as I look down at him, pathetically writhing on the floor, I decide that I’m done settling for over-entitled assholes who treat me like shit.

Before I lose complete control, I spin on my heel to leave. I land in Roman’s arms and he grabs my shoulders to steady me. Cupping my face in his hands, he looks into my eyes. “You’re good,” he says. His voice is strong, reassuring.

I nod. “I’m good,” I repeat as I take a series of deep breaths.

Slipping his hand in mine, he leads me back down the stairs, not stopping until we’re back in my car. Silently, I pull out of the driveway and head back down toward the road. I let Roman report the party to the police, and I make a mental note to tell Melissa to sell the goddamn place- imported furniture and all.

After a few minutes of driving aimlessly, I look down and realize my knuckles are white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly. I flex my fingers as I pull the car over into a dark parking lot. I drop my head and let it fall down on the steering wheel. I feel Roman’s hand on my thigh, and I turn my head to look over at him.

“Did I seriously punch him?”

Roman nods, a somber expression on his face. His eyes, illuminated by the lone light pole in the parking lot, reveal his concern.

“And then I kicked him, right?”

Roman nods again, his upper lip quirking a bit.

“And then I elbowed him?”

A third time, Roman nods, now unable to restrain his smile.

I make a grimace before bursting into laughter, my body shaking as I laugh. “I know I shouldn’t laugh. Especially since I just committed assault and whatnot. But, holy shit, that felt good!”

Roman laughs and shakes his head. “Should I be worried about you?”

I lift my brow and wink. “Maybe.” Letting out a long sigh, I look up at the dark road. “So, where do we go from here?”

“I think we have somewhere we can go,” he says. “But let’s get some breakfast first. I’m starving.”